Federal Bureau of Investigation
by nancy fan
Summary: Brittany's got a secret. A good one.


"We stayed in the Four Seasons, in the same room as Michael Jackson did during his infamous interview with Martin Bashir. I requested it, especially," Kurt regales the tight gaggle of Glee clubbers matter-of-factly, sighing dreamily as he pushes his immaculately coiffed hair an inch to the left. "The decor was very classy, very old school Hollywood. In fact, I'm thinking of remodeling my own bedroom in a similar style. I've already picked up a few swatches of fabric,"

"Fuck, _you_ got to go to Vegas? Puck cuts in, staring accusingly at Kurt. "In what fucked-up universe is that fair? I've wanted to go there since I was eight and I saw Casino for the first time and you actually get to go there and all you can talk about is the crappy hotel room,"

"We travelled first class," Kurt answers in curt reply, taking a distrustful sip from his skinny latte. "I wore a fusion of Marc Jacobs and Burberry. Victoria Beckham sat two rows behind me. It was awesome,"

"Vegas is like in Europe, right? Near the place where the tower thingy is," Brittany gestures vaguely, the expression in her blue eyes deliberately blank.

Kurt is about to retort with some sarky, caustic reply about Vegas being the new Paris before evidently rethinking the decision and clamping his mouth shut again. There was no point. Brittany probably wouldn't get that either.

During the almost eight weeks Brittany has spent attending McKinley High, she has quickly become accustomed to the bemused, blank stares that meet her, the minute she opens her mouth. It's hilarious actually and everyday Brittany challenges herself to shock her classmates by saying more absurd and ridiculous statements. It has become a game of sorts, a million, trillion times more entertaining than the Halo drivel Finn and Puck seem to be obsessed with playing. The thing she said about dolphins being gay sharks had been pure genius. She should be writing these down, Brittany realizes; her two week ice trekking holiday through the Arctic would provide the perfect opportunity to write that book she's always been threatening.

"What the hell do you do when you're in class, Brittany?" Finn demands disbelievingly, his attention so completely focused on the self-imagined wittiness of his remark that he almost falls over a chair. "Dream of puppy dogs and kittens taking over the world?"

(These comments are rich coming from a guy who barely knows his left from his right and who once spelt his name on the top of a pop quiz incorrectly.)

"Sometimes," Brittany admits with feigned sincerity but inwardly she's laughing, gloating at her obvious superiority over the hapless high schoolers. Having acquired four separate doctorates in various disciplines and having the accolade of being the youngest member ever of MENSA (she was three-months-old), Brittany could wipe the floor with these losers. But she sits down as hapless and doe eyed as any kindergarten student on their first day of school and it works. Nobody suspects for a second that the newly transferred Brittany (she hasn't even bothered providing the school administration with a surname - that's how clueless they are) is actually Special Agent Brittany West. In her mere two years of working as an FBI agent, Brittany has infiltrated al-Qaeda, has hacked into the Russian Security Services and has been on two separate expeditions to the Moon.

Her cell phone rings and Brittany bends over and whips it out of the front pocket of her shoulder bag, making a big display of showing off her pink, leopard skin panties.

The guys are all staring at her, Brittany knows and she loves it; the seemingly never ending supply of hot guys and girls just another advantage of what has proved to be the best assignment ever.

"I've got to go. My mom needs me to take care of my sister,"

Kurt's expression is aghast as though he's wondering how any sane person would think it a wise decision to leave Brittany take care of a goldfish, never mind an actual human being and a defenseless one at that.

Brittany sits into her car, surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder before she slides open her cell.

"Good evening, Sir. Agent West speaking. What can I do for you?

Speaking to Unit Director John Jacob, Brittany's tone is as smooth and polished as Britney Spear's post-meltdown head.

"Good evening, Agent West. How is Operation Cheerio progressing?"

"Quite good, Sir," Brittany replies as she carefully withdraws a pair of slim line binoculars from her bag and starts scanning the school car lot for any unusual activity. "The target has been identified and is being monitored. There's no incriminating evidence as of yet but I'm confident that the next week will bring some interesting news,"

Holding the binoculars closer to her face, her eyes narrow at the sight of Sue Sylvester lugging something that looks suspiciously like a dead body through the faculty car lot. Will Schuester to be more specific.

"The target is now entering her vehicle and is carrying something suspect with her," she informs him distractedly, trying desperately to get a closer look at the scene with the godawful binoculars the cash strapped FBI have provided her.

"Is it a pipe-bomb or a canister of nerve gas? Unit Director John Jacobs demands gleefully, already anticipating the hundreds of thousands of dollars in after-dinner speaking fees he could command, if he managed to bring in the former dictator of Genovia alive.

"No, it appears to be the body of a teacher,"

"Oh, all right then,"

Unit Director John Jacobs sounds almost disappointed at her reply.

Further examination of the scene, determines that it is the school mascot and not Will Schuester that Sue Sylvester is bundling into her car. Though the unnaturally large chin of the stuffed figure and the wiry, wool hair does look remarkably familiar.

"Agent West, this operation needs to be brought to a swift conclusion, if you catch my meaning. President Obama is getting restless and the offers of golfing with him at Pine Valley are starting to dry up,"

"It's under control, Sir," Britney assures him in a curt tone before snapping the cell phone shut and returning her attention to the formidable Sue Clarisse Sylvester.

Trophies and overly large containers of protein shake are surprisingly good at disguising bugs and luckily, Sue Sylvester's office provide a wealth of both. During a routine weigh-in in Ms. Sylvester's office, Brittany had managed to completely bug the office in under forty seconds, when the woman had stalked out of the office spewing venom, after four of her Cheerios had the audacity to gain an unacceptable five ounces in weight. A tape-worm diet had been prescribed for every Cheerio after that, Sue storing the parasites for exactly that occasion on a shelf, the jar nestled between her oscar for best actress and a thick, leather bound book, which was curiously branded with a pair of coiled, wrought iron snakes.

Secreting the binoculars in her hideously pink book bag, Brittany smiles seeing Santana striding towards the car, looking unbelievably hot in her Cheerio's uniform. Santana was a genius in bed and to repay her for the multiple orgasms she's managed to bring Brittany to, screaming and writhing on the bed, Agent Brittany West has hacked into Figgin's computer. Santana's D's have inexplicably changed to A's and she's also been accepted into Harvard in the fall. (It's amazing the lax security college administrator's employ on their systems these days.)

"You want to go to the movies later?" Santana asks and she has that look on her face, the one that tells Brittany that they won't be watching very much of the movie tonight.

"Totally," Brittany agrees, seeing the pink lipgloss shimmering on the girl's lips and knowing how sweet Santana will taste when she finally gets her alone.

Agent Brittany West is going to deactivate a couple of bugs when Sue is smoothing on her nightly application of crushed snake venom and aloe vera onto her skin.

She never wants this assignment to end.


End file.
